What Goes Around
by stephell
Summary: My muse continues to muse on the upcoming season.  No swear words, some smut, mostly Jack's POV, Martin, Sam and Danny all appear in varying degrees.


A/N: As always, I write to purge my own thoughts or emotions or perhaps to have fun with the characters. Of late, my muse is disturbed and worried that my fave show will be dumbed down by taking a direction that makes no sense, I wish I had faith in the writers but they've messed up too many good opportunities in the past for me to have much faith in their ability to do right by this show. I will hold out some semblance of hope (desperation) that even if they screw up the characters, perhaps they'll have really good missing person stories and so will tune in faithfully as I have the last five seasons (at least until I'm convinced that they've Jumped the Shark)

What's the point of this ramble, to remind you all that I have no ownership, power, or say in anything to do with Without A Trace, if I did, there are many of you that would be working with me and writing the plot lines, dialogue and scenarios. Since I have no such authority, I can only dabble here, and here I dabble.

Thank you

**What Goes Around **

"Are you sure this is what you want?"

"Yes, Jack. I've though it through very carefully. My five plus years here have been – I've learned so much for everyone and I'd like to think I've left a bit of me behind, perhaps taught some of you a thing or two as well as learned so much from you."

Jack nodded thoughtfully, the team had all learned from each other over the years.

"It's time for me to move on."

"Because of Sam and me?"

"Call me old fashioned, call me idealistic, call me a hopeless romantic I don't care anymore, Jack. I hope you and Samantha are happy, I really do. We tried but the truth is she wasn't willing to commit to an honest relationship with me, and I'm not interested in games. I want to be with someone who isn't afraid to hide the relationship, that doesn't care what others may or may not be thinking but is willing to be open and be seen with me and to let others know that ours is a committed relationship.

Samantha wasn't ready to do that with me and to be honest I realize that that's because she never saw me or wanted me in that way; she wants you.

So I hope you're happy, and I hope it works, but I can't work here this way, I just can't."

Jack held Martin's gaze and realized that Martin never flinched, never looked away, there was no judgment in his agent's eyes, only a calmness, a steadiness that Jack had learned to recognize meant that Martin was entirely committed to a course of action.

"So you're okay that Sam and I are seeing each other but you aren't okay working on the team while we're seeing each other. I'm not sure how to interpret that, Martin."

"Jack, like I said, you can call me a hopeless romantic but to me a relationship means that you openly spend time together, you learn about each other and not just privately but you go and do and experience things in public. You see other people and they see you as a couple. You and Samantha aren't doing that and you both know that you can't, not and continue working together on the same team.

I'm not intending to be sanctimonious but I can't just pretend either. I respect the hell out of you and I don't want anything to change that but I know that over time, knowing that you and Samantha are together as a couple and as supervisor and subordinate that I won't be able to view you as my leader in the same way; I know I won't be able to.

I'm leaving so that I won't have to watch that happen. I'd rather just remember my respect for you as it is now rather than wait for it to diminish. I'm asking that you honor my request for the transfer, please."

Martin exited Jack's office after making his plea; if Jack refused his transfer he had another letter ready to give him, his resignation. Returning to his desk he carefully evened out the stack of folders, returned the pens to their holder and turned out his light. Bidding Danny good night, Vivian and Elena had left 30 minutes earlier; he picked up his pack and headed towards the elevator. As he reached the elevator the bell dinged lightly alerting him that it had arrived before he even called for it. The doors whooshed open and out stepped Samantha, she saw him and immediately held her hand over the eye beam so the door would remain open for him.

"Thanks, Samantha, night."

"Good night, Martin." Sam wondered a little wistfully why he had taken to calling her Samantha over the past few weeks and never called her Sam anymore. As she returned to the bullpen she noted Danny idly fiddling with a pen and staring at Martin's desk.

"Hey, Danny, unless I'm mistaken, I've finished my work, so has Martin, Viv and Elena are already out of here, guess that makes you the last to finish. No plans with Elena tonight?"

"Nope, she and Sophie are going girl shopping for some things for Sophie to wear at school, I want no part of that. And, I finished my work 15 minutes ago while you were in the file room so, chica, that makes you the last to finish. Unless you count the boss, from the looks of the stack of folders on his desk he's not going to be done anytime soon. Either way, I'm out of here, game starts in 30 minutes and all I'm going to miss is the opening pitch or maybe not even that if I catch all the lights right. See you tomorrow."

With that Danny straightened in his chair, expertly chucked his pen into the holder, slid the papers into a neat stack, flicked off his light, grabbed his coat and his bag that he had packed earlier – cheater, Sam thought – and all but ran out of the office.

Sighing softly Sam went to her desk, fiddled with some papers, dispatched a few emails and finally after 15 minutes of killing time she headed to Jack's office, her bag over her shoulder, her coat hanging from her arm.

"Hey, I'm heading out, don't stay too late, you know." She twitched an eyebrow up and down slyly at him; they had agreed to be much more careful in all their movements and conversations this time around.

"Well, I'd like to say that I won't stay too late but – "Jack waved his hand over the six inch stack of files on his desk and the small pile of message slips littering the center of his desk "—I really have to get some of this stuff cleaned up. I'll probably be working for several more hours. See you tomorrow."

"Okay." Disappointed Sam waved weakly towards him, "See you in the morning." And headed for home, a frozen dinner that she would dutifully microwave, pick at and then throw away and a lonely night of flipping through television shows while turning pages and 'reading' the backlog of magazines she never quite got around to unsubscribing from and had long since stopped asking herself why she had subscribed to them in the first place.

Alone in his office Jack waited until he heard the ding of the elevator signaling that Sam had left the office, then he leaned back in his chair and returned to sifting and sorting through all the words Martin had said to him.

//_Call me old fashioned, call me idealistic, call me a hopeless romantic I don't care anymore, Jack. I hope you and Samantha are happy, I really do. We tried but the truth is she wasn't willing to commit to an honest relationship with me, and I'm not interested in games. I want to be with someone who isn't afraid to hide the relationship, that doesn't care what others may or may not be thinking but is willing to be open and be seen with me and to let others know that ours is a committed relationship_.//

What Martin was really saying, if Jack was honest with himself, was that Sam either couldn't or wouldn't allow such a relationship to happen, she wanted to be with him, Jack knew that, but it was on her terms, hidden. At first he hadn't minded but as the weeks had gone on he realized that he had no reason to hide except for the job. He was divorced, free to do as he wished free to be with whomever he wished. Truth was he liked putting his arms around Sam, he liked holding hands with her but they only ever did that when she was leading him to the bedroom or after they had made love, otherwise, he never touched her or she him.

With Anne they could be seen in each other's office, getting out of each other's car in the morning, out to dinner, walking in the park, he couldn't do any of that and something that Martin said resonated within him, he was tired of playing games, if he was going to have a relationship with someone he wanted to know the other person was committed to it.

Actually, the irony of the situation was that he and Sam had had just that conversation two days ago, actually it was less of a conversation and more of an argument with Sam angry and almost shouting and then in the end she was slightly weepy, too tired to continue the fight. He had suggested finding her another post to work at in New York and she had been angry that he would automatically think she would want to transfer. All his reasoning went unheard, Sam wasn't interested that it would be easier for her to transfer than for him that there weren't any posts at his current rank in the NYC office while there were some prominent opportunities for her.

In the end the argument had gone round and round in a circle with Jack getting hopelessly lost and Sam eventually huddled against his chest and finally she lifted her chin up and looked into his eyes and he had kissed her, intending it to be nothing more than a peace offering but her hunger was immediate and the intensity of her response had him kissing her back with more passion than he had felt only moments before.

Their passionate kisses slowly turned to exploration as his shirt was unbuttoned, her blouse was undone, her tongue trailed down his neck to his chest and his hands kneaded her soft breasts. His last thoughts of ending this journey were completely swept away the instant she moaned in response to his fingers on her nipples. He rose with her body pressed against his and once again she took his hand and led him down the hallway to her bedroom where they made love.

Looking back on it now, though, Jack saw the pattern all too clearly; they hadn't made love that night, they'd had sex. They hadn't finished their discussion, they'd had sex. They next morning when he awoke before the alarm he found her lying lightly on his chest, her naked breasts pressed against his chest hairs, her fingers twirling his hairs and she had said to him, I'm so glad you stayed the night and then he had opened his mouth and began, "Sam, about our talk last night, "

But that was as far as he got as she captured his mouth with hers, her tongue probing inside and her hands slowing caressing down his abdomen and to his legs. He felt his loins stirring rapidly to such heat that he flipped her over trapping her beneath him and when she was ready, moaning his name and writhing in urgency he entered her and the two of them fell into the timeless rhythm of sex and satisfaction and by the time they finished the act – as he now realized it was – they had to rush or they would be late to work.

That day he and Sam had inadvertently ended up sharing the elevator and arriving at the office at exactly the same time and the memory of Vivian's disapproving glance flickered in his mind as she had seen him and Sam arriving together. Vivian was sharp as always and missed nothing and she had fixed him with a hard but unreadable stare.

Now, as he swept the small pile of phone messages that he had returned hours earlier into the trash can his hand came back to rest on the slim folder holding Martin's letter requesting a transfer. He fingered the folder and realized that he couldn't keep the echo of Martin's words or of the intent behind them from his mind. Sam didn't want anyone to know, Sam wasn't willing to commit to the relationship as evidenced by her unwillingness to sacrifice for it, and unlike before when he was torn in his marriage to Maria and feeling trapped by it, the lure of sex and hidden pleasures wasn't nearly as strong or as rewarding.

Instead of looking forward to stolen moments with Sam he was actually avoiding them. He opened the desk drawer and returned the stack of folders to their place. His desk swept immaculate, each pen in its holder, he held onto Martin's letter, turned out the light, put on his jacket, grabbed his briefcase and headed home, wondering what would tomorrow bring.

Laurel

September 2007


End file.
